(Note: this post is old; the guy took “his” profile down. Thus, no link.)
I was gonna give him the “Brilliant Profile” award, but I don’t want to blow his game. In fact, nobody send him a message about it or anything. I don’t want to tip him off. I posted about this on reddit too so I’m sure he’s getting a million visitors. A million scruffy dudes from the East Coast and Canada between the ages of nineteen and twenty five, is who uses reddit apparently. But don’t tip him off. Continue reading
Anyway, poly people. I agree with what they’re saying, when they explicitly outline the tenets of the poly lifestyle, or movement, or whateverthefuck it is on their profile. And they always do. There is always an apologia– I’m just doing what your husband is doing, but I’m doing it honestly. There is always a knee jerk paragraph pre-empting some boilerplate criticism with their boilerplate response. And that’s what sucks about poly people– their put-uponness. Their humorlessness. Same with the “S&M subculture” and all this other shit– I like fucking a bunch of girls; I like pulling their hair and maybe throwing a forearm into their neck once in a while, but I don’t like how much people who self-identify as liking these things talk like some tiny marginal religious group constantly bitching about how they just want to be left alone on their compound. Trust me, people do not give as much of a shit as you think and it would just– it would just make you easier to be around if you weren’t so god damn touchy. It’s like this with porn stars too. Every conversation with them, they’re so guarded, so conscious that they’re going to be held in contempt– they’re nerds, these porn stars. They’re nerds sitting in the AV club constantly bitching about the jocks, who are everyone who doesn’t take a load in the eye for a living.
I live alone. It’s great if you like shitting with the door open, which I do. It’s great if you like jerking off. I can jerk off anywhere, any time, for any reason. It’s great if you like making food with strong-smelling sauces that you then fail to refrigerate because you’re drunk and instead let sit on top of the stove at room temperature for several days. It’s great if you like leaving your brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear scattered in various corners instead of the readily available laundry basket, and the clean laundry is also in an unsorted pile next to this laundry basket, and you forget which brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear you have worn and which you have not, and you can’t tell by smelling them, even the clean ones still smell slightly like taint, the way your mouth still tastes a little bit like puke even after you brush your teeth– but who cares, because no one’s going to be smelling your balls today anyway. Maybe just turn them inside out to be safe. Continue reading
Don’t read this if it’s about you.
I went on a date this week with a girl who actually has a nice body. Can you imagine? A girl, off the internet, whose weight was as advertised. We all know that OKCupid weight classes are two words for OK and then fifteen synonyms for fat, and you know when you go out with someone here they’re going to be at least thirty pounds over what their photos would lead you to believe. It’s just a hazard of internet dating. Something you accept. The girl who shows up is substantially fatter than her photos. Every. Single. Time.
And I was cool with that—I don’t mind if a chick is a little “thick,” or even “plump—“ basically, I have no standards and will fuck anything that moves, and the virtue of internet dating is no one has to see what you’re doing. I won’t email with someone who has “a few extra pounds,” because we all know what a cruel joke that word “few” is in this context, but “curvy,” sure. “Average,” why not. It’s never the “average” for women between the ages of 18 and 29 in Los Angeles, CA, the most body-conscious city on the entire face of the Earth; these girls generously judge themselves by the national average. But still. Fine. Continue reading
My best friend, whom I met off OKCupid, has a kid. And I have discovered that I enjoy the fuck out of going over to her house, cooking a 1950’s housewife dinner for her and her kid, and then we all sit around the table talking quietly and politely about how his day was at school and making sure he eats his vegetables. He’s like fourteen, so, he is close to being a fully formed human being and is at the cusp of a cool time in his life when he will drink his first beer, make out with his first girl, get his heart broken, and etc. I enjoy spending time with this young man and his mother. It has awakened some deep yearning for domestic life that I never would have suspected. Now I want to come home every day to a family, have a woman hand me a martini and talk to my son about baseball practice or some other Leave it to Beaver shit.
So I would gladly date a girl with a kid, because at forty grand a year for eleven hours per motherfucking day someone else’s kid is the closest I am ever going to get to this. But here’s the problem with kids: who is the father. A girl of dating age who has a child who is fully formed enough to enjoy had them young, which means they were impregnated by someone whose last words will be “hold my beer, watch this.” Someone with tons of tattoos who had to quit his band because he broke his fingers on some guy’s face and now has to send three hundred dollars per month of his landscaping income to some actress/ waitress. Or a Nicaraguan barback who drives Denzel’s car from Training Day and carries a switchblade and wants to kick your ass. Continue reading
I can’t be bothered to go on a fucking date anymore. The whole thing has just become so joyless. And it’s not them; it’s me. There are plenty of nice attractive girls. I get unsolicited OKCupid messages from them. It would be so easy. But… fuck it.
There was an old episode of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION. Or maybe DEEP SPACE NINE. What happens is, the Klingon messiah from thousands of years ago comes back to life. Kahless. And there is debate among the Klingon community as to whether it’s the real guy, or merely a clone. As one would expect with Klingons, words are not enough to settle the dispute and there has to be a ritualistic duel of champions with crazy crescent shaped two handed knives.
So the pro-Kahless and anti-Kahless guy are having this grim battle with the knives; sour, determined faces, cunning and strategy; and Kahless steps in and is like- “what the fuck is the matter with you guys? You are taking no JOY in this! We’re Klingons! We fucking LOVE fighting– you guys look miserable!”
That’s what internet dating feels like to me now. And dating at large. I love dating; I love women, but it’s become just this rote, mercenary thing, you know. It’s become an assembly line. Find girl. Message girl two to three sentences exactly– longer messages and shorter messages get far fewer responses. Fifty per cent of the time they respond, almost always continuing whatever joke I made. I “cut the thread,” say some other funny thing that is unrelated, and ask for the number. Fifty per cent of the time I get it. Ten minute phone call on the drive home a day later. Propose a specific plan. A specific bar on a specific night, and the bar is a place close to my house that serves artisanal beers with undetectably but shockingly high alcohol content; three of them will get any girl into the fuck zone. Go for the makeout on the second cigarette break. Walk her to her car and ask her to drive me home. Ask her to come inside. Get her inside, more making out, more booze, get her into bed, eat her pussy till she gets horny enough to let me put it in unprotected. She’ll ask if I have condoms; of course I don’t. Continue reading
I keep looking at this one polyamorous chick’s profile. There are a lot of them on here. Most of them are noise, as far as a guy is concerned, because most of them are “F/bi/available” but have the NO MEN NO MEN NO MEN disclaimer that every bi girl has, or the friendlier “I do like guys, but sorry fellas, I have a harder time meeting women in real life so I’m on here looking for girls only.” Looking for girls to bring back to their strong jawed bartender boyfriend who sings about communism in a band.
And almost all “bi” women are like this, poly or otherwise. NO MEN NO MEN NO MEN. The bitch of it is that because it’s a woman looking for women, and thus having to do some actual work, these profiles are the best ones. You get to see a side of them that’s actually trying to present their lives as something you’d actually want to be a part of. Of course these parts are walled in by giant blocks of NO MEN NO MEN NO MEN type ward-you-off stuff in all caps.
delicioustacos 